


you're like my passion for real

by littlesnowpea



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M, Star Wars Spoilers, Trans Character, Transphobia, and they live happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 08:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15968858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: "Oh my God," Andy said. "Oh my God, is this the kid you almost fucked at the mixer?""No," Pete lied badly. "I'm just very supportive of the music students here at DePaul."





	you're like my passion for real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/gifts), [folieamo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/folieamo/gifts).



> nobody asked for a college au but i was like "how about i do it....anyway." so here it is! i miss college (she says, as she's in college).
> 
> ao3's tagging system is a joke but this fic contains: too much star wars watching, an inappropriate addiction to black licorice, patrick in his devil outfit, a trans main character, borderline disgustingly cute couples, and the pumpkin shaped peanut butter cups. 
> 
> please eat some as you read. (i should get sponsored by reese's)
> 
> title from "porcelain" by patrick stump (off truant wave)

Pete didn’t even want to _go_ to the mixer. He didn’t. He hated Halloween with a passion, and no Andrew, he wasn’t just moping because Ashlee left, thank you very much. He’d grown up like his dad wanted and Halloween was boring, not matter how much the cheap decorations at Target called his name like sirens in choppy waters.

God, he really was just a bad poet. 

Despite all that, Andy dragged his ass to the mixer anyway, and in a shocking move that Pete never expected out of him at all, he thrust a cup of jungle juice into Pete’s hand and said: “Get drunk. Immediately.”

Pete wasn’t one to question it if Andy was willing to babysit his trashed ass all night, so he cheerfully downed the cup and resolved to have an excellent time, _fuck_ you, Ashlee. He wasn’t going to spend one second thinking about her, excluding every second so far he’d wondered what he didn’t have that her new boyfriend had. What. Ever. Pete threw on the shittiest excuse for a costume ever, which just consisted of the least battered pair of cat ears in the dollar section at Target, black clothes, and crookedly applied eyeliner whiskers. Hey, he tried.

Pete was about four glasses into whatever horrible mixture broke college kids managed to concoct and was thinking about heading outside for a breather and maybe to piss against the fence, because there was no way anyone was paying him to use one of the rancid bathrooms in the house. He could also go for some weed or something. He briefly wondered if Andy would tolerate him being drunk _and_ high when someone stumbled from the house, running smack into him.

“Watch it,” Pete growled unhappily. Whoever bumped into him was slightly blurry--being stinking drunk will do things to your vision, after all--but Pete was pretty sure it was a dude and he was wearing a Ghostbusters costume it looked like, complete with a now-crooked helmet and headlamp. 

“Sorry,” the guy apologized. “The floor’s moving.”

“You’re probably just drunk,” Pete said, squinting, and Ghostbusters giggled. His cheeks were pink and eyes bright behind thick glasses and Pete knew without a doubt that this was a freshman.

A very _fresh_ freshman.

“Have you ever been to a party before?” Pete asked, which was more tactful than Pete asking outright if Ghostbusters had ever been drunk. 

Ghostbusters licked his lips like drunk people do, and Pete’s eyes were drawn to his mouth with the movement. Very abruptly, Pete’s brain screeched to a halt, all the blood that was formerly helping it function dropping straight down to his cock because _God_ , that was one excellent mouth. 

“Huh?” Pete said dumbly, when Ghostbusters cleared his throat. Oh. Pete had asked a question and then promptly zoned out before he got the answer. Classic. 

“I said no,” Ghostbusters said. His voice was slightly high pitched, which Pete attributed to the alcohol. “This isn’t my first party.”

Oh, Ghostbusters couldn’t lie for _shit._ Pete was gleeful. There was nothing he liked more than corrupting freshies. It was practically his civic duty. What else were juniors good for?

Pete had his mouth open and a gross, alcohol fueled come-on ready to go when two dudes sidled up on either side of Ghostbusters, one giving Pete a nasty look.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” nasty look guy said, snatching the cup out of Ghostbusters hand and dropping it in the bushes. “You were supposed to stay right next to us.”

“I’m an adult,” Ghostbusters argued. “You’re not my mom. Neither is Travie.”

“You’re welcome,” the same guy said. “Let’s go before some creep gets you.”

He said this with a look directed at Pete, which was not entirely unfair but also, _hey._

“I don’t _wanna,_ ” Ghostbusters whined, with an impressive pitch to his voice. He was either a theater major or a music major based on his ability to project, drawing the attention of the few partiers outside the house. First guy sighed. 

“Patrick,” he said firmly. “You weren’t supposed to be here in the first place. Shut up and come home.”

“Fuck you, Joe,” Patrick said back, but stumbled as first guy--Joe, evidently--gave him a push forward. Patrick bumped into the second guy, who looked mostly amused at the whole encounter, even more so when Patrick wrapped his arms around his middle and pouted into his chest. “Travie, tell Joe I can stay.”

“No can do,” Travie said easily. “You’re drunk off your ass, Trick. It’s bedtime.”

Patrick groaned but let Joe tug him away, back around the front of the house. Travie glanced at Pete, clearly smirking, before following them, pulling a joint out of his pocket and lighting up as he went. 

Pete sighed, cracking his neck. Great. His main distraction, whisked away like fucking Cinderella, leaving Pete mopey again. He fucking _hated_ this holiday, so fucking much. He wanted to go hook up with someone and forget everything even remotely associated with Ashlee. Forever. 

“Hey,” someone said, draping themselves along Pete’s back. “What’s wrong, big guy?”

“You sound like a porn star,” Pete said, and Brendon bit his shoulder. “Kinky. Is Spencer gonna like his boyfriend climbing me like a tree? I know you miss my dick, but you got a different one now.”

“You dumped me,” Brendon reminded him. 

“Because you were in love with Spencer,” Pete countered. “Really fucked up my enjoyment of your mouth.”

“Perv,” Brendon said cheerfully. He was clearly high, though Pete wasn’t sure if he’d had alcohol yet. Pete could smell the weed off him from across the street. “What’s wrong, though?”

“You my therapist and my ex now?” Pete asked sourly. Brendon rolled his eyes. 

“We’re friends, dumbass,” he said. “I’m allowed to ask you how you’re doing.”

“I’m dying slowly,” Pete said. “Goodbye.”

“Pete,” Brendon said, remarkably seriously for someone stoned out of his goddamn mind. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Pete said. “If you’re trying to get me to talk about Ashlee, it isn’t going to happen. I got the ring back, I got my money back, and I’m fine.”

“That’s why you look ready to murder everyone who comes near you,” Brendon said. “Makes total sense, I see it now. If I blow you, would it help?”

“Spencer,” Pete said. 

“It’s for charity, he’ll understand,” Brendon replied, and Pete rolled his eyes. 

“No,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

“Fine,” Brendon said. “You know where to find me if you decide to start acknowledging your feelings like a normal human being.”

“Yeah,” Pete snapped. “On your knees for the Dean of the Music Department because you have no talent.”

“Your drunk ass insults do not affect me,” Brendon said. “Bye, asshole.”

Pete sighed as Brendon sauntered off. He really fucking hated Halloween. Just like he hated pretty much every day that had elapsed since Ashlee met someone else. 

\----

“Oh, fuck,” Pete groaned, and Andy laughed at him. “You promised you’d help, you asshole.”

“I did not,” Andy said cheerfully. “I said get drunk because you’re the worst person ever sober right now. What happened after you sobered up was all your responsibility.”

“Could you, like, breathe quieter?” Pete begged pathetically. “I want my last moments alive to be as pain free as possible.”

“Get up,” Andy said instead. “I will take you this once and allow you to gorge on unhealthy, greasy food because I have pity somewhere in my heart for how fucked up your life is currently.”

Andy was the best friend ever.

That was how Pete found himself at the diner, head on his fist, three cups of coffee in, surrounded by equally hungover DePaul students. He was mildly more functional thanks to the actual metric fuckton of bacon he’d shoveled into his mouth, and Andy was very kindly keeping the scathing comments to a minimum. 

The assembled former-prides of DePaul were in varying states of disarray, from back in normal clothes, to half-clothed half-costumed, to full costume with clown paint smeared down their face like they popped straight out of _It._

Pete avoided looking at that one. 

“Thanks,” he said, and Andy rolled his eyes fondly.

“At some point, you’re going to need to pull yourself together,” he said, remarkably gently. “I know how much it sucked. I know how shitty it was of her to do that. But your work is suffering, dude. If I have to listen to another depressing as shit poem, I’m calling Bellevue.”

Pete slumped over. 

“She said I wasn’t going anywhere in life,” he mumbled. “I guess _he_ has a “real degree”, which apparently doesn’t include creative writing.”

“Fuck her,” Andy said evenly. “She doesn’t think my major is a real one, either. She’s the worst. She’s one of those people who think that creative and helping majors don’t matter. Fuck her.”

“Your major is real,” Pete frowned. “You’re going to be a teacher. That’s what liberal arts is for.”

“So is yours,” Andy said. “You’re gonna be on the bestseller list and she’s going to be a sad accountant. Finish your dead pig.”

Pete sighed but shoved a slice of bacon into his mouth as Andy delicately sipped the fair-trade coffee he’d brought in from his favorite coffeeshop, very blithely ignoring the dirty looks the wait staff gave him. 

Pete glanced around again. At least he wasn’t in costume. True, all he had to do to get out of costume was wipe his face off and throw the headband in the garbage, but still. His roaming eyes landed on the table directly behind Andy and his brain stopped working abruptly. 

“Oh my God,” he said faintly, taking a gulp of too-hot coffee to prevent himself from saying anything fatally stupid. Fuck. It was Patrick, head hanging low like it was aching, leaning against...Travis? Travie? Whatever, the chill guy from last night. The other guy, who apparently hated Pete on sight, name forgotten, had his back to Pete. 

“What?” Andy asked, because nothing escaped him. Pete coughed on the coffee. 

“Nothing,” he said. “Some guy I think I maybe talked to yesterday.”

“Talked to or fucked?” Andy asked. 

“Talked to,” Pete said. “I wish I fucked him.”

“TMI,” Andy said pleasantly. “Is he hot?”

“Yeah,” Pete said, gulping down coffee. His brain pointed out that he was….very much a freshman, like eighteen maybe, and was a lot cuter without the Ghostbusters getup. Also Pete personally sided with the dude that hated Pete. Far too young to drink alone at an upperclassmen party. 

“Go talk to him,” Andy suggested. 

“Pretty sure his friends hate me,” Pete replied. 

“Everyone hates you,” Andy pointed out. “Did you do something embarrassing?”

“Can’t remember,” Pete said, still staring.

“So yes,” Andy said. “Good job.”

“It’s my calling in life,” Pete said, and shoved the last piece of bacon in his mouth. “Are you paying?”

“You’re an ingrate,” Andy sighed, and Pete grinned.

\----

Pete felt like a real boy again on Monday. Mostly. If he locked the part of his heart that was still sore in the basement and never, ever let it out again, he’d be fine. 

He stood in line at the coffee hut, scraping his worn out shoes on the pavement. It was crisp outside, making Pete glad he stole Andy’s sweatshirt, and Pete was actually on time to his seminar, what a fucking concept. 

“White mocha, please,” he said, handing his student card over and praying there was still money on it. It passed and Pete gave a cheer in his head before pocketing it and stepping to the other side of the counter to wait. 

He took a deep breath and mentally calculated his schedule for the week. He wanted to catch up on his literary poetry class, so most of his study time had to be spent on that, but he also had to finish the readings for his seminar. Today he was unprepared, so it was a back-of-the-class, subtly doing other work day apparently. 

Pete sighed and stumbled as someone knocked into him. 

“Sorry!” the person said. “It’s my guitar case, I hit everything with it, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Pete said automatically. “I wasn’t holding my coffee yet.”

“Good,” the person said, and Pete blinked as his sluggish mind put the pieces together in front of him. 

“Oh,” Pete blurted out, like an idiot. “Ghostbusters.”

“What?” Patrick asked, because of course Pete would run into the guy he drunkenly hit on now, of all times. Pete swallowed and tried to get ahold of himself. 

Patrick was really pretty now that he wasn’t in a Ghostbusters costume and Pete was sober. He had red-gold hair that framed his face, and wide blue eyes behind the same glasses, and yes, Peter, his lips looked amazing. 

“Um,” Pete said belatedly. “Ghostbusters. At the party, right? You were in the Ghostbusters costume.”

Patrick grinned wryly. 

“I’m sorry if I puked on you or something,” he said. “Last night wasn’t my finest moment, collectively. I wasn’t supposed to be there--I’m a freshman.”

_Uh, yeah, I can tell._

“I just remember your costume,” Pete said, delicately leaving out how hot he was. “I’m Pete.”

He stuck his hand out because he might as well continue to fuck up his life, and Patrick shook it. 

“Patrick,” he said. “Um. Music major.”

He held up his guitar unnecessarily, and Pete grinned. 

“Creative writing,” Pete said. “How’d you wind up at an upperclassmen party, anyway?”

“My friends,” Patrick shrugged. “I convinced them to take me. I’m the youngest--they don’t usually let people start the actual program until they’re a junior, but I did most of my GEs already so. Here I am.”

“You did most of your GEs?” Pete asked. “How?”

“I was a nerd in high school,” Patrick said carefully. Pete’s antennae went up--oh, hiding something. Got it. “So I finished early.”

“Beats having to take English Comp,” Pete said, shuddering at the memory. “So, music? What concentration?”

“Uh, um, composition,” Patrick said. “And I understand this will officially make me sound like a much bigger nerd, but I’m doing a minor in percussion, strings, and voice.”

“Holy shit,” Pete said. “My mom thought my having an emphasis in poetry was too much work.”

“I don’t have GEs to do,” Patrick shrugged. “So I need to fill up four years somehow.”

“Fair,” Pete said. “I was a fuckton more busy when I was on the soccer team.”

The words were out of Pete’s mouth before he could stop them and he tried not to wince. Ouch. Soccer was still an ache he hadn’t quite healed yet. 

“You quit?” Patrick asked. Pete swallowed past a dry mouth. 

_No, my ex’s dad was the coach._

“Yeah,” he lied. The barista waved at him, holding up Pete’s coffee. “Um. Nice to meet you. See you around?”

“Yeah,” Patrick agreed, grinning. Pete swallowed again. 

“Yeah,” he echoed. 

\----

The problem with Pete trying to be a real human being again was that he had to actively try and get over Ashlee, as compared to moping in his dorm room listening to My Chemical Romance and painting his nails black. There was only so far he could go before he dove completely off the deep end, after all. 

“I wish I could be playing soccer right now,” Pete said mournfully, face down across Andy’s bed and ignoring the increasingly hostile pokes Andy was giving him to try and get him onto his own bed across the room. 

“There’s absolutely nothing stopping you from playing soccer,” Andy said firmly. “This is a self-induced exile, you loser.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pete said darkly. “I’m sure Coach would love to have his daughter’s ex back on the team.”

“I don’t actually think he cares,” Andy said. “It’s not like you broke up with her. Are you really gonna let her take soccer from you, too?”

Pete groaned loudly into Andy’s pillow.

“Christ,” Andy said. “You’re worse than a four year old that got told he couldn’t have candy for dinner. Will you please go get laid or something? It’s been months since Ashlee left.”

Pete groaned again. 

“At least come out with me,” Andy said, and there was a weird note to his voice. Pete lifted his head off the pillow a few inches to glare suspiciously at Andy’s now-averted gaze.

“Go out where?” he asked. “You despise campus activities.”

“I always went to your games,” Andy argued weakly.

“Yeah,” Pete said. “Because I dragged you. What the hell are you going to tonight?”

“The Music Department is putting on a Halloween concert,” Andy said, sounding like he hated every word leaving his mouth. “And I want to support the hardworking students of the DePaul music program.”

“I knew it,” Pete said. “It’s that mysterious music kid you can’t stop talking about.”

“No, it’s not,” Andy lied, badly, and Pete smirked. 

“Are you going to make a move tonight?” Pete asked with glee. “Oh my god are you gonna dress up?”

“No,” Andy said. “And I’m disinviting you.”

“Too late,” Pete said immediately, pushing himself off the bed. “I am definitely coming to see this dude who apparently invented music. I’ll dress up if you dress up.”

“Nobody is dressing up,” Andy protested. 

\----

“I hate you more than anyone on the planet,” Andy hissed angrily but uselessly into Pete’s ear. The auditorium was half-full, mostly dedicated parents that came to see their children and the students that didn’t make it into the concert, dressed up in awful, halfhearted costumes.

“Hush,” Pete said. “You make a very handsome pussy.”

“It’s a cat, you jackass,” Andy muttered. “You ought to know, you put it on me. Why couldn’t I have been a furry like you?”

“First of all,” Pete said primly. “This is a panda onesie from Target. Furry costumes are way too expensive. Second of all, you’re just jealous they didn’t have a cat onesie.”

“I want to wear normal clothes,” Andy said unhappily.

“Hush,” Pete said again. “It’s about to start. If I guess who your mystery man is, you owe me pizza.”

“Fuck you,” Andy said as the lights went down. The dean stepped onto the stage, dressed as a hastily-assembled scarecrow.

“Hell yeah, Gunner!” someone shouted from the audience, and the dean held up her hand. 

“Calm down,” she said. “Thanks for coming to our Halloween concert, everyone. The proceeds are going towards the scholarship fund. My name’s Lynn Gunn and I’m the Dean of the Music Department. This concert was by audition, and the talented students you’re about to see have worked hard to put on a good performance. The order is in your programs. Free refreshments will be provided after the event, as well as a chance to meet the students. Without further delay, Happy Halloween, everyone, and let’s get this party started!”

Pete clapped with everyone else, glancing down at the program. Hayley Williams, voice. 

“Is it her?” Pete hissed into Andy’s ear as the bright-haired woman walked onto the stage.

“It’s a _man_ , you fucking--”

“Shhh!” someone in front of them said, and Pete smiled generously at them until they turned back around. 

Hayley was a good singer, much to Pete’s surprise. Not that he was sexist, it was just that the last few singers he’d heard from the department were better classified as clones of crows or maybe pigeons. Hayley had a full, gorgeous voice. DePaul must have upped their admittance standards for music, probably to actually compete with Columbia.

Pete clapped a little more enthusiastically as Hayley bowed and left the stage. A few unlucky students that were probably getting extra credit started shifting instruments around, and Pete took the opportunity to lean into Andy.

“Is he actually performing or is this a bait-and-switch?” he asked, and Andy glared at him. “What? I just want to meet the only guy that’s actually made you swoon.”

“I have not swooned,” Andy said haughtily. “And I’m no longer friends with you.”

“Don’t front,” Pete scoffed. “Without me, you’d have nobody to nag day in and day out.”

Applause broke off their conversation, and Pete noticed immediately how tense Andy got as the next performer walked on stage. Pete squinted. Was that--it was. Patrick’s friend. The one that gave him the stink eye at the party. The program announced him as Joe Trohman and Andy was a _statue_ next to Pete, very determinedly not looking anywhere but straight ahead. Pete was grinning so hard it hurt.

Joe was dressed as Jesus, with a large sign hanging on his chest that said _don’t forget Jesus wasn’t white_ , which made Pete actually laugh out loud. Andy practically squeaked, turning red as Joe waved shyly at him. 

“Oh my God,” Pete whispered as Joe tuned his guitar. “Oh my God, he’s cute.”

“Shut up,” Andy said hotly, ears red. “God, just shut the fuck up.”

“What?” Pete asked. “He clearly likes you.”

“No he doesn’t, shut up,” Andy said. Pete rolled his eyes. 

“Bet you anything he does,” he said.

“Be quiet, it’s starting,” Andy begged, and Pete sat back with a smirk, watching Joe play his guitar. He was good, too, although Pete was a little distracted gleefully watching Andy’s face. He was raptured, and Pete didn’t know if it was the music or Joe but he liked it. Andy never got anything nice, always cleaning up after Pete’s dumb ass, and Pete was happy seeing Andy happy even if he knew nothing about Joe. 

Joe kept glancing at Andy as he played, smiling softly, and Andy smiled back _every single time._ It was borderline disgusting, but also so cute it hurt, so Pete didn’t taunt Andy immediately. 

“He plays the guitar good,” Pete said.

“ _Well,”_ Andy automatically corrected. “And shut up.”

Pete grinned. 

Joe finished with a bow and a wink at Andy, who immediately buried his face in his hands. Pete clapped loudly and elbowed Andy as Joe left the stage and the stagehands changed the stage again.

“Oh my God,” Pete said. “I cannot believe you held out on me. How did you meet him?”

“Tutoring,” Andy said through his hands.

“Are you hooked on a student you’re tutoring?” Pete demanded. “Oh my God, I’m living in a romcom.”

“I will literally pay you to never speak again,” Andy said mournfully, still covering his face. “I regret meeting you.”

“No, you don’t,” Pete grinned. “Please go out with him, you would make such pretty babies.”

“Do I need to explain biology to you?” Andy asked, peeking out of the cover of his hands to glare at Pete. Pete winked.

“I’m going to drag you over to him after the show and make you ask him out,” Pete said, satisfied, and Andy practically whimpered, slumping over in his seat as the next act walked out. 

Pete’s brain screeched to a halt and his mouth went abruptly dry. The surrounding students wolf-whistled and cat-called good-naturedly, but Pete’s eyes were enormous and locked on stage, where Patrick (tiny, baby, eighteen year old Patrick) was dressed up in a goddamn _sinful_ Devil outfit, complete with blinking horns on a headband and eyeliner. 

Pete’s mouth went even drier and his pants got tighter. 

“Hi,” Patrick said, setting off a chorus of cheers again. “Don’t tell my mom I dressed like this.”

Laughter followed, and Pete vaguely realized that Andy was staring at Pete suspiciously and Pete was so frozen he could be mistaken for a statue, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t fair. Eighteen year olds were not allowed to look like that.

“Why are you being weird?” Andy asked, but Patrick strummed a few chords and Pete elbowed Andy somewhere he hoped hurt.

It turned out the perfect mouth Pete couldn’t stop staring at was actually best applied to music. Patrick opened with _This Is Halloween,_ which. Okay, maybe Pete had a bad habit of falling in love with everyone who was even slightly cute and nerdy, but come _on._ How was he supposed to listen to the cutest music student in the world who was dressed up as a twink Devil sing his favorite song and _not_ fall halfway in love with him?

It was impossible. 

“Oh my God,” Andy breathed into Pete’s ear, because he was the _worst friend ever._ Pete was a complete hypocrite, he knew this, but Andy was the _worst._ “Oh my God, is this the kid you almost fucked at the mixer?”

“No,” Pete lied badly. “I’m just very supportive of the music students here at DePaul.”

Andy laughed gleefully, hidden by a high note Patrick hit that made Pete genuinely lightheaded, and Pete surrendered himself to Andy’s impending taunts and a very awkward after the concert meet and greet.

\-----

Pete dragged his feet out of the auditorium and into the lobby, where a table was set up with assorted Halloween-themed snacks and watery lemonade. Andy was smirking at him and Pete needed to put him in his place, pronto.

“Oh look, it’s Joe,” he said brightly, and Andy paled, whirling around to face the backstage door that was still closed.

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole,” Andy hissed. Pete smirked. 

“I mind my business,” he said. “You mind yours.”

“Fine,” Andy muttered. “I hate you.”

“You’d be lost without me,” Pete said bracingly, gulping down a mouthful of bitter lemonade. Just as he swallowed, wincing, the door opened and Hayley led the students out, throwing her arms around what must have been her parents. 

Andy choked on air as Joe walked out, making immediate eye contact with Andy and heading straight for him. Pete kept his mouth shut. He wanted to say a whole bunch to Joe, but he knew what Andy was capable of. 

“Hi,” Joe said breathlessly. “You came.”

“Yeah,” Andy said, voice cracking. “You were really good.”

“Thank you,” Joe said, beaming. “I wanted to do that song you liked but I was struck down.”

“I liked what you did,” Andy said. “I mean, I could listen to you all day, so maybe I’m biased.”

“You could?” Joe said, lighting up. 

“Uh, yeah,” Andy said, grinning.

It was _disgusting_. Pete very charitably kept that opinion to himself. Joe glanced over at Pete and stilled for a moment, frowning.

“Have we met?” he asked, and Pete tried not to pass out immediately. 

“I don’t think so,” Pete said. “Unless you’ve seen me at a Music Department gig. My ex is a music major.” 

“That might be it,” Joe said, buying it to Pete’s undying relief. “I’m Joe. Are you Andy’s….friend?”

Joe said _friend_ like he was praying to God Pete said yes. Pete gave Joe his best smile, because he wasn’t actually an asshole and really did want Andy to be happy for once.

“Friends,” he said. “Roommates. He’s like my brother.”

The amount of relief that crossed Joe’s face at _like my brother_ warmed Pete’s cold, dead heart, even more so when he looked hopefully over at Andy.

“I’m gonna pee,” Pete said, taking pity on Andy. He backed away, letting the two losers be alone, wandering back to the Halloween cupcakes and eating one in a single bite.

“Charming,” someone said, and Pete choked for a moment, coughing until his airway cleared and he felt he wasn’t in imminent danger of death before turning around only to lose his breath once again.

“Hi,” he managed, voice hoarse. 

“Hi,” Patrick said, grinning. His cheeks were pink, headband still blinking, and up close the red suit looked even more sinful. It _clung_ to his hips and his ass, collar popped open just enough for Pete to see the curve of Patrick’s neck, shiny with sweat, just begging Pete to drag his teeth down the pretty, pale skin. 

“Hi,” Pete said belatedly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Patrick grinned.

“I somehow got a spot,” he said, as if he wasn’t the most talented thing walking the streets. “What are you doing here?”

Pete inclined his head to where Joe and Andy were still floating on Cloud 9 just by being in each other’s presence. 

“My best friend slash roommate brought me here,” he said. “Because he’s in love with a music student.”

Patrick glanced over, eyes widening.

“Oh my God,” he breathed. “Is _that_ Andy? Joe never shuts up about him.”

“You mean like Andy never shuts up about Joe?” Pete asked wryly. “Wanna help me shut them in a closet?”

“Will it help them sort things out?” Patrick asked in interest. “Because he’s driving us nuts.”

“It’s kind of cute,” Pete said. “He’s put up with enough of my bullshit to be entitled to be a little gross, I think.”

Patrick grinned at him. The eyeliner was smeared down his cheeks a little with the sweat, making his bright blue eyes stand out even further. He was so fucking cute, borderline gorgeous, and Pete really, really had to stop staring, like, now. 

“It was nice of you to come with him,” Patrick said, and Pete grinned kind of helplessly. 

“If I had known you were performing, I would have come anyway,” he said before he could stop himself, and Patrick grinned back so hard his eyes shined in the light. 

“You’re so sweet,” he said, biting his lip.

“Yeah, well,” Pete said. “You’re an amazing musician.”

Patrick just grinned harder. 

“Like,” he said. “I have my end of the semester review next month. I know it’s not for a while. But it’s open to the public if you were interested or whatever.”

“I’m interested,” Pete said, almost before Patrick was finished talking. Patrick flushed. “Tell me when and I’ll be there.”

Patrick bit his lip again.

“You got anything I can come support?” he asked, and Pete swallowed past a dry throat. 

“I’m entering into the poetry reading for the end of the semester,” he said. “I’ll let you know if they choose my shitty work.”

“I doubt it’s shitty,” Patrick said. “You made it to junior year.”

Pete grinned and Patrick grinned back before reaching out and grabbing Pete’s arm gently, pulling a pen out of his pocket and pushing up the sleeve of Pete’s panda onesie. 

“My number,” he offered, cheeks pink, and scrawled it under Pete’s Jack tattoo, adding a _Patrick! :)_ after it. He paused, touching the tattoo briefly, and looking back up at Pete. 

“You like _The Nightmare Before Christmas?_ ” he asked, and Pete felt his own cheeks heat up.

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Me, too,” Patrick said unnecessarily, given his performance. “You should come over and watch it sometime. I don’t have a roommate.”

Patrick flushed bright red at that and glanced away, making Pete smile even harder.

“I’d like that,” he said. “I’ll text you?”

Patrick nodded immediately.

“Please,” he said, and Pete nodded, too.

\-----

Pete and Patrick had texted a lot for only having each other’s numbers for a few weeks. It was weird. Patrick could practically read Pete’s mind, blessed with the ability to decipher Pete’s rambling rants and manic tangents when Pete forgot his meds for a few days. He kept up pace with Pete, trading snark for snark, and filled some weird hole in Pete that he’d been trying to ignore since Ashlee left. 

Not that Pete was in love with Patrick or anything. He wasn’t, no matter how hard he blushed at his phone sometimes, or how much Patrick semi-flirted when they actually talked on the phone like high schoolers late at night. 

**_from: ricks_**   
_That’s entirely untrue. His best album is his self titled. I’m not hearing any more debate about this. Admit you’re wrong._

Pete grinned hard.

_ill let u win bcs ur cute thats it_

**_from: ricks_**   
_I’m flattered. ;-)_

A fucking winky face. How the fuck did Pete meet this kid again? He was ready to kiss him stupid. 

A pillow hit Pete directly in the face hard, and he groaned before glaring at Andy, who was grinning so hard it looked like it hurt. 

“What?” he asked grumpily. “Some of us don’t have class today.”

“None of us have class today, it’s Saturday,” Andy said.

“Excellent,” Pete said darkly. “So you’re bothering me because….”

“I have a date,” Andy said. “And you have to come with.”

“Okay first of all,” Pete said, raising an eyebrow. “Congratulations. Second of all, dates are usually a solo type thing.”

Andy rolled his eyes. 

“It’s to the new Star Wars,” Andy said, somewhat nervously, fidgeting where he stood. “And I’m not actually sure it’s, like, a date. A bunch of people from the music department are going and Joe invited me and said you can come and I can’t go alone because what if it’s _not_ actually a date and I’m reading too much into this and--”

“Alright, chill the fuck out,” Pete said, sitting up. “I’m getting anxiety just listening to you. Calm down. Joe’s probably freaking out, too. He invited me in case you weren’t into him. You’re both the biggest idiots on the planet.”

“Come,” Andy begged, and Pete rolled his eyes.

“I will come,” he said generously. “But I will strong-arm you into spending time alone with Joe, just see if I don’t.”

Andy gave Pete a relieved smile.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, and Pete softened.

“You’re my best friend,” he said. “Of course I’ll be there for you. But he likes you, dude. Promise.”

“Okay,” Andy managed. “C’mon. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“Bacon?” Pete asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Andy said through gritted teeth, and Pete grinned, grabbing his phone. “You really think so?”

Pete paused, sighing before reaching out and yanking Andy into a hug.

“Yes,” he said firmly, directly into Andy’s ear. “Yes, I really think he wants to kiss you and hold your hand and have your babies. Every time he looks at you, he looks ready to propose on the spot. He. Likes. You.”

Andy ducked his head, resting his forehead on Pete’s shoulder. 

“It’s just...you know,” Andy said shakily. “Since.”

“I know,” Pete said, resisting the urge to growl. “But Matt’s an asshole and wrong. Joe likes you so much, Andy. Promise.”

“Love you,” Andy managed, and Pete squeezed him.

“Love you more,” Pete said. “C’mon. Pancakes. And salad or whatever you rabbits eat.”

Andy punched him weakly but let Pete lead him down the hall and out onto campus. Andy pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen before glancing at Pete apologetically. 

“It’s my mom,” he said, and Pete waved at him. Andy answered. “Hi, mom!”

Pete turned his attention to his own phone, giving Andy some privacy to desperately seek his mother’s assurance of the same thing Pete said. He grinned as he opened his messages.

**_from: ricks_**   
_There’s a bunch of people going to the movies tonight, do you want to come?_

_are u asking me out_

**_from: ricks_**   
_That depends, are you going to pay for things and open the door for me?_

_ill even kiss u goodnight_

Pete swallowed past a dry throat, heart suddenly in his stomach. Damn. He let his fingers run away without him, let the words come out before he decided if they were a good idea. Yeah, normally he was the fuck and run type, Ashlee notwithstanding, but there was just. Something about Patrick. He wanted _so badly_ for Patrick to like him, more than he wanted to sleep with Patrick even, and it was fucking _weird._

**_from: ricks_ **  
_I am amenable to that._

Pete grinned, cheeks hot. 

_ill see u then, then. ill wear my cleanest jeans._

**_from: ricks_ **  
_Don’t make me swoon._

Pete just grinned harder, heart beating weirdly in his chest. He glanced at Andy, who was still talking earnestly to his mother, then looked back at his phone and the bold font that spelled out Patrick’s contact name. 

Now he _had_ to make Patrick swoon.

\----

After an actual hour of Andy frantically trying on literally every piece of clothing Pete owned, they were hanging out in the lobby of the movie theater, waiting for the wave of music students to sweep them up. 

Andy tugged on the collar.

“You look great,” Pete said patiently. “Joe’s going to want to bite at your tattoos. Enjoy the sex you could definitely get tonight if you chilled out.”

Andy swallowed. 

“Oh my God,” he said faintly. “They’re here.”

It wasn’t that big a group, all things considered. Joe was in front, eyes locked on Andy, grinning like he couldn’t help himself. Pete was pretty sure the dude watching Joe in amusement was Travie, and he was arm-in-arm with Hayley. 

Pete’s eyes slid next to Hayley and his mouth went dry. 

“Hi,” he managed, as Patrick stopped in front of him, cheeks pink. “You upstaged me.”

Patrick bit his lip, tugging at the hem of his _Jedi in the streets, Sith in the sheets_ shirt and winked at Pete. 

“I like yours,” he offered, reaching out and pressing fingers to the sadly-peeling Millenium Falcon decal. Pete’s chest kind of burned where Patrick touched it, and Patrick grinned, cheeks pink. 

“You want something?” Pete asked, gesturing towards the concession stands. Patrick raised an eyebrow. “I said what I said.”

“Sure,” Patrick said, and bit his lip again as he hooked a finger in Pete’s belt loop.

Icees and popcorn acquired, they trailed the group into the theater, settling into a row, Pete next to Andy, who had all his attention on Joe. Pete grinned at him before glancing at Patrick. 

“I’m holding you to all your promises,” Patrick said a little nervously, and Pete flushed. 

“I intend on keeping them,” he said, and it was Patrick’s turn to blush as he swatted Travie’s hand away from his popcorn.

“Make your girlfriend buy you your own,” he said, before handing the bag to Pete. “Protect this for me.”

“With my life,” Pete said, and Patrick giggled. 

“Shut up, it’s starting,” Hayley said, and they all obeyed, settling back in their seats. 

To his right, Andy was bright red, hand in Joe’s, watching Joe press a kiss to the back of it with wide eyes. Pete grinned, satisfaction settling in his heart as Joe leaned in to press a kiss to Andy’s cheek, this time, and turned his attention back to Patrick.

Patrick was watching the screen, thumbing over the bottom of his shirt almost absently as Luke Skywalker apparently entranced him on screen. The movie reflected off his glasses, and his bottom lip was trapped in his teeth. One leg was tucked under him and Pete’s gaze dropped to his chest, which was rising and falling in a strange pattern. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly, nudging him, and Patrick flashed a grin and nodded, taking a sip of his Icee. 

“Fine,” he said, but his voice was slightly breathy. Travie was glancing at Patrick, too, frowning, and he laid a hand along Patrick’s back. 

“I’m _fine,_ ” Patrick insisted, trying to move away, but Travie just frowned more and grabbed his arm. 

“Can you breathe?” he asked. 

“ _Yes,”_ Patrick said, but he didn’t sound like it, cheeks red, forehead slightly sweaty. 

Travie clearly didn’t buy it.

“Got your inhaler?” he asked.

“ _Travie,”_ Patrick said, but he was gasping now, and Travie’s name was less annoyed and more desperate. Travie took Patrick’s arm.

“Come, come on, come on,” he said, pulling Patrick up and tugging him along, out of the theater. Pete watched them go, eyes wide, and was just about to stand up when Hayley took his arm and shook her head.

“He’s got asthma,” she said gently. “He doesn’t like people to see when he has an asthma attack. Travie’s got him.”

“Travie does?” Joe asked, worried, and Hayley nodded. 

“It’s okay,” she said. Pete wanted to believe her, but was still worried. The way Patrick gasped Travie’s name, his weird breathing--all Pete could do was helplessly watch the door for Patrick and Travie to come back. 

It seemed like it took years, but eventually they did walk back in. Patrick’s head was ducked, Travie’s arm around him. Patrick was hunched over a little and, weirdly, wearing what looked like it was maybe Travie’s shirt, several sizes too large. His lower lip was trembling and it looked like he’d been crying maybe. The second he saw Pete, he crossed his arms defensively. 

“I’m gonna take Patrick home,” Travie said gently. “Catch y’all later.”

“You okay, Patrick?” Pete whispered, and Patrick nodded jerkily. 

“Thanks,” he whispered back, before glancing away and trailing after Travie, still hunched over and miserable-looking. Pete watched him go, chest hurting and confused.

\-----

_how are u feeling_

Pete alternated between staring at his pile of work and staring at the text he sent at 4:52 am. He knew Patrick was probably asleep. Most normal people were asleep, Andy included, snoring across the room. Pete was wildly behind on his writing assignments, not to mention his reading, but all he could think about was the way Patrick looked leaving the theater last night. 

He jerked in surprise as his phone vibrated and he scrambled to pick it up and unlock it again, squinting against the bright light in the darkness. He swallowed hard as he registered who it was.

**_from: ricks_**   
_Fine. Sorry. I hate having asthma and I hate people seeing me have an attack. I’m so sorry._

Pete frowned.

_srry for what its not your fault. im just so glad ur okay. maybe i should come over tomorrow or something, make sure ur okay_

**_from: ricks_ **  
_I’d never say no to you coming over even though I promise I’m fine. Do you want to watch Nightmare Before Christmas?_

Pete had to grin. 

_is that srsly a question. i’ll bring pizza. do u like ice cream._

_**from: ricks** _  
_The correct answer is love. I have leftover Halloween candy but it’s mostly licorice. Sorry._

_licorice whyyyyyy. i have chocolate, ill bring it._

_**from: ricks** _  
_You’re the best._

_srsly promise ur ok_

There was a long pause. Pete worried for a moment that maybe he went too far, pressed too much, but then, his phone vibrated with a call from Patrick. Pete fumbled quickly to answer, breath catching in his chest.

“Hi,” he whispered. Patrick sighed. 

“Hi,” he said. “I’m really okay. I’ve had asthma since I was little. It’s just frustrating because having an attack fucks up my voice and when I have one I have to wear really loose clothing which is why I had to borrow Travie’s shirt which I hate and then I ruined the whole night--”

“ _Hey,_ ” Pete interrupted. “Stop that. You didn’t ruin anything, it’s not your fault. Okay? I had fun last night with you, you could never ruin anything.”

There was a pause. 

“You’re too nice to me,” Patrick said, and Pete could hear the shy smile. 

“Impossible,” Pete said. “I can’t be too nice to a cute, mega-talented boy. It should be illegal for people to not immediately worship you where you walk every minute of every day.”

Patrick huffed a laugh into the phone.

“Some of us don’t actually want to be the center of attention,” he said, and Pete grinned.

“Some of us are too gorgeous not to be,” Pete countered. “If I could bottle your voice I would listen to it every night to fall asleep.”

“Stop,” Patrick said, but it was delighted. “You have trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah,” Pete said, biting his lip. “Uh. Yeah. I have insomnia. And I, um. I have bipolar disorder? And it kind of fucks with my sleep, so.”

“Oh,” Patrick said softly. “Is that why you’re awake?’

“Yeah,” Pete said, wincing.

“I’m so sorry,” Patrick said. “That sounds like it sucks. If you think it’ll help, I can sing to you.”

Pete’s brain short circuited. 

“Wh-what?” he asked dumbly. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Why not?” Patrick said softly. “I want to make sure you get your beauty sleep after all.”

“Why are you the most amazing person I know?” Pete said, somewhat hoarsely. 

“You flatter me,” Patrick said, and Pete could hear the grin. “You still good with coming tomorrow?”

“More than good,” Pete said.

“Okay,” Patrick said. “Get comfy.”

“Are you really going to sing?” Pete asked, even as he unceremoniously shoved his work onto the floor and wriggled under the covers, phone pressed to his ear. 

“I said I would,” Patrick said. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Pete whispered, curling up. Patrick cleared his throat and began to sing softly. 

_“Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars…”_

Pete closed his eyes and exhaled. 

\-----

It was Pete’s turn to try on everything he owned as Andy sipped a weird protein shake and watched him in interest.

“Wow,” he commented as Pete collapsed onto his bed. “This is more effort than I ever saw you put in for Ashlee. You really like this kid.”

Pete groaned into his pillow. 

“Isn’t Patrick a little fresh for you to be chasing so seriously?” Andy asked. “Don’t you usually hit and quit the freshmen?”

Pete groaned again.

“I was a lot nicer to you when you were getting ready for your date,” he pointed out. “I was supportive and kind. You’re a dick.”

“I’m a realist,” Andy corrected. “You’re being fucking dumb. He’s a freshman, they’re easily impressed.”

“I’m telling Joe you talked about Patrick like that,” Pete said, and Andy rolled his eyes. “Seriously, help.”

“Why are you so worried?” Andy asked. “The clothes will just be on the floor five minutes after you get there.”

“What kind of girl do you take me as?” Pete asked. Andy raised an eyebrow.

“You’re _not_ going over with the expectation of fucking this kid’s brains out?” he asked. “Interesting.”

“I like Patrick as a person,” Pete said firmly. 

_“Interesting.”_

Andy was the worst friend ever, but at least he’d finally helped Pete pick out his least dickish looking outfit. He stood outside Patrick’s dorm building, shivering a little in the November evening breeze despite his purple jean jacket, waiting for Patrick to come down and let him in. He felt a little out of place at the freshman dorms, but other than a few appreciative looks at his jacket, nobody seemed to really care.

“Hi,” Patrick said, a little breathless, cheeks pink and smile huge. “Let me sign you in.”

The student working the front desk slid a clipboard over to Patrick, who signed it and swiped his student card before grabbing Pete’s hand. 

Pete tried to ignore the little shock to his heart at the contact and cleared his throat, allowing Patrick to lead him up the stairs and down the hall. 

“I brought chocolate and ice cream,” he said as Patrick pushed his door open.

“Man after my own heart,” Patrick replied, winking at him. Pete’s mouth went dry. “I like your jacket.”

“Thanks,” Pete said. “I like your shirt.”

Patrick’s shirt was the nerdiest thing Pete had ever seen, _Stark Industries_ in bold across his chest and Iron Man underneath. Patrick flushed. 

“Hey, he’s the best Avenger,” Patrick argued. “Does--does your shirt say _suck my richard?”_

“It does indeed,” Pete said proudly, peeling off his jacket to reveal the shirt. He’d hoped it would make Patrick laugh, and based on the twitch of Patrick’s lips, it worked. “How’d you score your own room as a freshman?”

“I’m lucky,” Patrick said evasively, before very blatantly and obviously changing the subject. “What kind of ice cream did you bring me?”

“Only the best,” Pete replied, letting Patrick’s avoidance of the subject go. “Mint chocolate chip.”

Patrick froze.

“Peter,” he said slowly. “Are you having a stroke? Mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like where toothpaste goes to die. What’s wrong with you?”

Pete pressed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. 

“How dare you,” he said. “There is nothing on Earth as divine as mint and chocolate. Have you not lived?”

“Oh, I’ve lived,” Patrick said. “You must not have gotten enough love as a child if you think mint chocolate chip is _divine.”_

“You really need to respect your elders,” Pete said, and Patrick cackled. “It’s okay. You’ll figure it out eventually. You’ll find the light.”

“Shut up and sit down,” Patrick giggled, turning on his TV and PS4. 

“Do you have Fortnite on there?” Pete asked, and Patrick rolled his eyes. 

“Typical,” he deadpanned, grabbing the controller and hopping onto his bed. “C’mere, hurry up.”

Pete grinned, dumping the bag of candy onto the bed and climbing up, too, watching Patrick scroll to Netflix and select _The Nightmare Before Christmas._

The movie queued up and Patrick picked up a pumpkin-shaped peanut butter cup. 

“You brought the best candy outside licorice,” he said. “You’re forgiven for the ice cream mishap.”

“We need to talk about you and licorice,” Pete said. “Are you an eighty year old man? Nobody in their right mind likes black licorice, dude.”

“Well, there’s your mistake,” Patrick said wisely, biting into the peanut butter cup. “Believing that I am in any way in my right mind.”

Pete reached out and stole the other half of the peanut butter cup before he could tell himself not to, making Patrick flush. 

“It’s okay,” Pete said around the candy. “I’ll give you a pass for being so cute.”

“That’s gay,” Patrick said, cheeks bright red. 

The movie had started but neither of them were paying much attention. Patrick sang _This Is Halloween_ under his breath as he semi-sorted the candy into two equal piles, leg bouncing in time. Pete mostly watched Patrick, couldn’t help it. 

Maybe Andy was right, maybe Pete had gone off the deep end. It was just...he hadn’t met anyone like Patrick before, not ever, and yeah it was weird but also nobody had ever made Pete this happy. Not even Ashlee, who he’d _proposed to._ Nobody was like Patrick, nobody made him feel the way Patrick made Pete feel. Pete had written approximately ten poems for class all about Patrick, which wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary for a writer who wore his heart on his sleeve, but they were all so deep that he got compliments instead of sarcasm from his classmates. 

“When’s your thing?” Pete asked as Lock, Shock, and Barrel kidnapped Santa. 

“My thing?” Patrick asked, confused. 

“Yeah,” Pete said. “The semester review.”

“Oh,” Patrick said, cheeks pink. “You’d---you’d actually come?”

“Of course,” Pete said, grinning, and Patrick grinned kind of helplessly back. 

“It’s November 21st,” Patrick said. “At 7, same building. When’s your poetry night?”

“November 19th,” Pete said, internally relieved it was a different date. “Also 7. At Arts & Letters Hall.” 

“I’ll be there,” Patrick said. 

“I don’t even know if I made it,” Pete replied.

“You will,” Patrick said easily. Pete grinned at him. 

“How embarrassed would you be if I brought you flowers?” Pete asked. Patrick frowned. 

“Flowers?” he asked. “I’m not a girl.”

There was a weird tone to Patrick’s voice, almost defensive, but Pete ignored it and clarified.

“Boys can get flowers, too,” he said. “I personally expect flowers, so keep that in mind.”

Patrick laughed. 

“Consider it done,” he said, grinning. He was fiddling with the wrapper to another peanut butter cup, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to open it or not or maybe he was a little nervous about something. Pete could relate. 

Because all of a sudden, the only thing Pete wanted to do was to take the candy away, tug on Patrick’s arm until Patrick climbed into Pete’s lap, and kiss him stupid. It was overwhelming, it was the only thing he could think about as he stared kind of helplessly at Patrick’s soft-looking mouth, his wide, bright eyes as he watched the movie, the pink in his cheeks that Pete wanted to darken by kissing the breath out of him.

He wanted _so bad_ , and because he was Pete and he wasn’t very good at self-control or delayed gratification, he acted before his brain could even remotely catch up. 

“What?” Patrick asked as Pete took the candy from him and grabbed his wrist. He was pliant, though, went where Pete led him, flushing hard when he would up with one thigh on each side of Pete, lip trapped between his teeth and eyes wide. 

“Is this okay?” Pete asked quietly, and Patrick nodded a little frantically, though Patrick felt him trembling a bit. Pete’s hands settled at Patrick’s hips, squeezing once before leaning up and pressing his lips to Patrick’s. 

God. It was like nothing else on Earth, like Pete had died and gone to heaven. Patrick’s lips were so soft under Pete’s, and hesitantly, he kissed back, a tiny noise escaping his mouth as Pete deepened the kiss. 

Pete felt hands tangle in his hair and he captured Patrick’s lower lip carefully between his teeth before letting go and pressing kisses down the slope of Patrick’s jaw. Patrick whined as Pete recaptured his mouth, kissing back almost messily, desperate, gasping into Pete’s mouth as he settled more onto Pete’s lap and Pete’s erection pressed against his ass. 

It was incredible. Pete couldn’t get enough, he _couldn’t_ get enough, not at all. Patrick was downright intoxicating, tasting like peanut butter and chocolate, breath hot and warm, hands restless in Pete’s hair, cupping Pete’s face, like he wasn’t quite sure where to put them. 

Pete tugged on Patrick’s shirt, a question, and Patrick froze, going so tense he accidentally pulled Pete’s hair.

“Sorry,” Patrick said, swallowing hard. His lips were swollen, slightly bruised, and he looked a little shell-shocked. “Sorry. This is, like. Officially going to make me sound so uncool and unattractive but I’m. Not ready.”

“Okay,” Pete said, even though he was a little disappointed. Hey, it was Patrick’s body, and it was Patrick’s rules for it. “You’re not uncool or unattractive. If you’re not ready, it’s okay. We don’t have to. We can keep kissing or we can stop that, too.”

“I really like you,” Patrick managed, averting his eyes, and Pete pressed a kiss to his hot cheek. 

“I really like you, too,” he said gently. “It’s okay. We can wait.”

“Really?” Patrick asked shakily, and Pete nodded, kissing his cheek again.

“Not gonna like you any less because we aren’t having sex,” he said, which, okay, yeah, was surprising, but fuck. Pete _liked_ this nerd, and if liking him entailed waiting a while for sex, then fuck it. Pete had a hand.

“Thank you,” Patrick whispered, ducking down to press his lips gently to Pete’s. “Just--thanks.”

“C’mere,” Pete said, and Patrick grinned a little and did.

\----

“I changed my mind,” Pete said, and Andy rolled his eyes. “No, really, I changed my mind. I’m dropping out of the poetry review.”

“Okay one, no you’re not,” Andy said firmly. “You spent so much fucking time on these poems. You’re so proud of them. You were chosen first out of everyone. And two, no you’re _not._ Your freshman boyfriend is in the audience waiting for you to recite all the poems you wrote about his “sea struck eyes” and you can’t let him down, Joe will never let me hear the end of it. So hurry up. Put on your fancy suit and let’s go.”

Pete wasn’t any calmer backstage listening to the other students. He knew better than to recite his poems too much--too much resulted in him forgetting every word when it came time to do it for real, he knew that now. 

“Next, Peter Wentz, creative writing junior. Let’s give him a big hand.”

Loud cheers followed that. Pete recognized Andy’s voice right away, and Patrick’s. As he walked onto stage, he caught Patrick’s eye and grinned at him, grin only getting bigger when Patrick flashed a heart shape at him. 

“Hi,” Pete said into the microphone. “My name’s Pete Wentz and I’m a third year creative writing major. I’m really happy to be here and share three of my poems from my portfolio tonight. Thanks so much for having me.”

Patrick and Andy cheered again, and Pete noticed that directly behind them was Joe, Hayley, and Travie, also cheering. His heart lightened and he cleared his throat. 

The first two poems were easy to breeze through--one was about his newly-mended relationship with his father, one was about Ashlee, though she didn’t hurt nearly as badly anymore. Not after meeting Patrick two months ago, not after being his boyfriend of two weeks. 

Pete was _ridiculous._

Pete swallowed as the applause for Ashlee’s poem died down, taking a deep breath. This last one. This last one was the most _heart on his sleeve_ poem he had in the bunch, the scariest one. Because he and Patrick had only been dating for a couple weeks, and it might scare Patrick to hear how deeply Pete felt for him. He was terrified to perform it, but this was voted in by his class so he had to. 

_i was just an only child of the universe; and then i found you_  
you are the sun and i am just the planets spinning around you  
you were too good to be true; gold plated; but what’s inside you?  
i know this whole damn city thinks it needs you  
but not as much as i do 

Heart hammering in his chest, he chanced a glance at the audience. They were on their feet, Hayley and Andy and Travie and Joe all cheering, and Patrick had both hands covering his mouth, eyes wide and wet.

Pete flashed him a tiny grin and Patrick wiped at his eyes before holding his hands up in a heart shape again. Pete’s heart flipped in his chest. 

He could hardly wait to get off that stage and into the lobby, he could hardly _wait_ to see Patrick. He didn’t pay attention at _all_ to his professor’s debrief, just fidgeted through it before beating it the actual second they were dismissed, exiting through the stage door to come face to face with the waiting audience. 

Thankfully, nobody held him up with complements, perhaps seeing the single-minded determination in his eyes, and he stopped dead feet from Patrick, who was grinning like he’d die if he stopped. 

He held out a bouquet of sunflowers, and Pete took them with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Patrick’s waist, drawing him in and kissing him. Patrick kissed back, a small, contented noise slipping free, breaking the kiss with laughter as their friends sarcastically applauded. 

“I loved it,” Patrick whispered, before Pete could even ask. “I loved it so much, you write so _beautifully,_ thank you, Pete.”

Pete kissed him again, a short, quick peck, and Patrick tangled their hands together. 

“Great job, man,” Travie said, and Pete grinned.

“Thanks,” he said. “Thanks for coming, guys, I mean it.”

“Well I had to see you embarrass yourself,” Andy said dryly. “For posterity. You ruined my night by being flawless.”

“You’re the worst best friend in the world,” Pete said. 

“Let’s go to the hangover diner,” Joe suggested. “I’ll pay.”

“You don’t have to,” Andy said softly. “I can, too.”

“What if I don’t want you to pay?” Joe asked, and Andy bit his lip.

They were still so, _so_ disgusting, but then again, Pete just did an entire poem about how his boyfriend was the best thing on Earth so maybe he didn’t have room to talk anymore. Patrick squeezed Pete’s hand as they walked, shaking their heads at Hayley and Travie’s good-natured bickering. 

“How come you don’t dedicate cute things to me?”

“Babe, I did that whole composition for you, remember?”

“Yeah but did you perform it?”

“You know I’m going to!”

“They’re such nerds,” Patrick whispered, breath spiraling in the air. “They’ve been together since high school. They’re like an old married couple.”

“How’d you meet them all?” Pete asked. “Through the program?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “We have to do an intro performance for our first semester and it was a mess for me. Like, the professor didn’t realize I was a freshman and when he did he tried to tell me I shouldn’t be there, and then when he was told I was supposed to be there he got all weird and yeah. I was really upset and they comforted me and I’ve clung to them ever since.”

“I’m sorry,” Pete said, and Patrick gave him a soft smile. 

“Things are better,” he said. “I’m more popular in the music department than I ever was in high school. Like. You know how I finished all my GE work in high school?”

“Yeah,” Pete said. Patrick took a deep breath.

“I was, like, bullied really badly in high school,” he said quickly. “And my mom pulled me out and send me to a college prep school and I got bullied there, too, so my mom negotiated a school from home thing and I just focused on doing as much as I could.”

“Why were you bullied?” Pete asked softly. “Because you’re gay?”

Patrick bit his lip.

“Yeah,” he said, but it didn’t sound like the whole truth. “Were you?”

“Bullied?” Pete asked, and Patrick nodded. “No. But that was because I was a goddamn monster who kicked the shit out of anyone that said shit to me. I got sent to boot camp.”

Pete said that last part with a waggle of his eyebrows and a faux scared tone and Patrick giggled. 

“Boot camp, huh?” he asked. “Did you have to follow orders?”

“We had to,” Pete shrugged. “But please note that I didn’t say I obeyed anything.”

“Duly noted,” Patrick said, then bit his lip. “Did you mean it?”

“What?” Pete asked, frowning. 

“The poem,” Patrick whispered. “Did--did you mean it? The things you said about me?”

“The first time I saw you in that goddamn Ghostbusters costume,” Pete said quietly. “I knew you were something special. Nothing has changed my mind. So, yes. I meant it. Every word.”

Patrick went up on his tiptoes and kissed Pete softly, and Pete kissed back, the chilly November breeze blowing past them, their friends voices washing over them.

Perfect.

\-----

Pete refused to listen to the shit Andy gave him for wearing his nicest clothes. He steadfastly ignored him as they sat in the auditorium, waiting for Patrick to come on. Andy had nothing to say that could possibly shake Pete’s resolve to be confident.

“Such a handsome boy,” Andy hissed, smirking, driving a bony finger directly between Pete’s ribs until he hissed and winced.

Andy was such an asshole best friend. 

“Joe,” he whispered. “Please tell your boyfriend that I can and I will kick his ass.”

“Negative,” Joe said back. “Because you can’t and won’t. Right babe?”

“Right,” Andy said brightly, and Joe kissed him. 

“How’s his ass taste?” Pete asked darkly, and Joe made a frankly obscene gesture. “There are children around, you know. Probably.”

“You’re just egging him on,” Travie said reasonably, from Pete’s other side. “Keep your cool. I’ve spotted them.”

“Shit,” Pete said immediately. “Do I look okay?”

“Worry about how you look after the show,” Hayley advised. “They’re not going to see you until then.”

“Patrick told her about us, right?” Pete asked anxiously.

“Chill the fuck out,” Travie said. “Patricia is nice. Elisa is who you have to watch out for. That woman has claws.”

“Duly noted,” Pete said faintly, clapping with everyone else as the lights dimmed and Dean Gunn took the stage.

“Our last performer of the night is finishing his first semester with our program,” she said. “He’s a composition emphasis with a voice, strings, and percussion minor. Please welcome Patrick Stump!”

Pete cheered as Patrick walked out, guitar around his shoulders. Patrick was wearing his _I’m so nervous nobody look at me!_ smile and he’d chosen his bright blue suit this time, the hypothetical angel to his Halloween devil. 

He was so gorgeous it hurt. 

“Hi, everyone,” he said, adjusting the microphone stand. “My mom’s here and so is my sister and my best friends and my boyfriend, so no pressure, right?”

Pete laughed with everyone else. 

“I’m so honored to be a part of this program and to have been allowed to enter so early,” Patrick said. “I’ve met so many wonderful people and my life is forever changed for the better, thanks to DePaul and my fantastic department, so thank you.”

The students in the audience cheered, too, the compulsive need to viciously love your program that Pete knew all too well. Patrick strummed a chord and took a deep breath. 

“This first one is from the classical unit this semester,” Patrick said. “It’s Vivaldi’s _Guitar Concerto in D._ I made some compositional and chord changes to it, as well as changed the tempo.”

Pete couldn’t help the soft smile that took over his face as Patrick began to play. It was gorgeous, and yeah, maybe Pete was biased, but there was just no way Patrick _wasn’t_ going to be a successful musician. Pete couldn’t even imagine how Patrick could play and sing and compose the way he did and not be successful. He deserved the entire world. 

“Thank you,” Patrick said, as the applause died down. “Thank you so much. This next one is for voice composition. I transposed this song...okay, it is a pop song but hear me out--and changed the tempo and made it acoustic. It’s dumb and it’s for my boyfriend. Okay, cool.”

Pete laughed again and bit his thumb as Patrick began playing. 

“Oh, my god,” he whispered as Joe began cracking up. “I love him.”

“You better declare your love more romantically,” Joe teased, as Patrick continued to sing _No Tears Left to Cry._ Pete swatted at him, hushing him, before sitting back and watching Patrick with a grin so huge it hurt. 

His heart swelled to five times its size and Pete couldn’t find a problem with that.

\-----

Travie all but dragged Pete over to where Patrick was hugging his mother and sister tight. Pete was scared _shitless_ \-- he knew he looked a little rough around the edges with tattoos up both arms and his past introductions to family never went too well. He _had_ to impress Patricia and Elisa because he wanted to keep Patrick forever. 

Patrick glanced over and lit up as he saw Pete, grabbing his hand and pulling him to stand beside him, facing the definitely-judging-him women. 

“Mom,” Patrick said. “Elisa. This is Pete.”

“Hi, Pete,” Patricia said, extending her hand. “It’s nice to meet the boy Patrick can’t stop talking about.”

Patrick blushed scarlet.

“Mom!” he hissed. Patricia just winked at him. 

“What’s your major, Pete?” she asked, and Pete tried to tell himself that spontaneous combustion wasn’t an actual thing. 

“Creative writing,” Pete said, somehow managing to sound mostly normal. “I’m a junior.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be dating an eighteen year old?” Elisa asked suspiciously. 

“Elisa!” Patrick said. “I hate you both!”

“Calm down, Pats,” Elisa teased, ruffling Patrick’s hair. “We’re just giving him a hard time. It’s nice to meet you, Pete. I’m glad you came.”

“Of course I did,” Pete said. “How could I live with myself if I missed an opportunity to hear Patrick’s gorgeous voice?”

“Stop,” Patrick mumbled, grinning, cheeks still pink.

“That’s gross,” Travie said, before throwing an arm around Patricia. “Hi, second mom.”

“Hello, stalker son,” Patricia said with a grin. “Is the kid with Joe the new boyfriend you were telling me about?”

“Yep,” Travie said. “They’re almost as disgusting as Patrick and Pete.”

“Hey, we win for most disgusting,” Pete said, managing to joke. This was fine. This was okay. They seemed to like him or something. 

Patrick grinned at him and Pete kissed his cheek. 

“You did amazing,” Pete told him, and Patrick lit up. “I liked the cover.”

“I did it for you,” Patrick said unnecessarily. 

“I loved it,” Pete said back, and Patrick squeezed his hand. 

Patricia and Elisa were watching them with identical soft looks, and Pete tried his hardest not to grin like an idiot. This was the first time a mother liked him on sight, and Pete was going to bask in it. Patricia reached out and smoothed down Patrick’s collar, which was slightly bunched up, and kissed his forehead. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she told him, and Patrick let go of Pete’s hand in order to hug her. 

“I love you,” he said, and she smiled at him. Pete glanced at Elisa, who was looking over Pete’s shoulder with an ugly, disgusted look on her face. She looked away, back at her mother and brother, before nudging her mother. 

“The heinous bitch is here,” she said. “Tell me I can’t deck her.”

“You can’t deck her,” Patrick said immediately. “She’s the worst but you can’t. I don’t want my sister to go to jail.”

Elisa scowled. 

“I hate her,” she said darkly, and Pete couldn’t help it, he looked behind him. Immediately, his heart skipped a beat, nausea churning in his stomach, and he fought the urge to run screaming from the building. 

Ashlee had dyed her hair an ugly, ugly orange color and was arm in arm with the dude she dumped Pete for. She was clearly kissing up to the dean, and Pete thought with a sort of mean satisfaction that it figured she had to suck up since she _sucked_ so bad at music. Her dad bought her into the program and she was awful. 

“Fuck,” he said, turning back around. “Ugh, why is _she_ here?”

Andy and Joe were giving Ashlee identical nasty looks. Pete assumed Joe’s was for the same reason Elisa hated Ashlee, and Andy’s was definitely because of Pete. At least they were all on the same page. 

“You know her?” Patrick asked hesitantly, like he was worried she was Pete’s friend or something. 

“Unfortunately,” Pete shuddered. “She’s my ex. I have to agree with Elisa. Ashlee is a world class bitch.”

Patrick squeezed Pete’s hand gently. 

“C’mon,” he encouraged. “Let’s grab Joe and Andy and go somewhere else. Mom, take us for milkshakes.”

“Sure, sweetie,” Patricia said, though she was giving Ashlee an evil eye, too. “Let’s go, then.”

She led the way to the doors, beckoning Joe and Andy as they went. Pete’s breath was stuck in his chest the entire way, and they had almost made it when they were cut off at the pass. 

“Patrick!” Dean Gunn said, and Patrick froze. “An excellent job. You definitely pass into next semester’s program. Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks, Lynn,” Patrick said, grinning like he couldn’t help it. “I appreciate it.”

“I appreciate what you bring to our program,” Dean Gunn replied. “You are an excellent student. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“Thank you,” Patrick said again, grin growing wider. 

“Have a nice night,” Dean Gunn said, before leaving, presumably to tell another performer their results. Patrick squeezed Pete’s hand before kissing his cheek. 

“Did you hear that?” he said in excitement. “Mom! Did you hear that?”

“I heard, Pats,” Patricia said, grinning softly. “Good job.”

“Yeah, good job, _Patrick,_ ” Ashlee said from behind them, and Patrick paled, gripping Pete’s hand tight. Pete turned to face Ashlee, giving her his best glare. “Nice suit. It fits you _surprisingly_ well.”

“Stop,” Patrick whispered a little pleadingly. Ashlee smirking looking from him to Pete. 

“Hi, Pete,” she said snidely. “What, are you dating this?”

She gestured at Patrick, who looked close to tears, stumbling back and bumping into his mother. 

“Ms. Simpson,” Patricia said sharply. “This isn’t high school. You’re a grown woman. Leave my son alone.”

“I’m not bothering your _son_ ,” Ashlee said, sneering on son. “You didn’t answer my question, Pete.”

“Patrick is my boyfriend,” Pete said coldly. “I don’t know your problem and I don’t really care. We’re done, we’re always gonna be done, so leave me and Patrick alone.”

Ashlee snorted. 

“Boyfriend,” she scoffed, and Pete frowned.

“You knew I was bi,” he said, and Ashlee rolled her eyes. “Stop. Seriously. Stop.”

“Did he tell you?” Ashlee asked.

“Stop!” Patrick said, voice cracking. 

“Why is it your business?” Pete demanded. “How about you keep your mouth shut? Whatever Patrick wants to tell me, he can tell me himself, when he’s ready. Or he can never tell me. I like him either way. It’s not your concern, so stop being jealous that you have zero talent and go blow your boyfriend.”

Ashlee scowled but Pete just squeezed Patrick’s hand and gave him a little tug towards the doors. Travie, Joe, Andy, and Elisa surrounded them as Patricia wrapped an arm around Patrick’s shoulders, giving Pete a look he couldn’t quite read.

“Thank you,” Patrick mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Pete asked. “You didn’t do anything.”

Patrick flashed him a watery smile and Pete kissed him gently. Patrick rested his head on Pete’s shoulder as they walked on, and Pete tried to breathe.

\----

Patrick perked up a little when they got milkshakes, but when it came time for his mom to leave, he struggled. Pete could relate. He was pretty close with his mother, and the thing with Ashlee had clearly upset Patrick a lot, so he just stood back and let them say goodbye to each other. 

Pete didn’t think they knew he could hear them, and he felt kind of guilty eavesdropping, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. He tried to look anywhere but at Patrick, who was hugging his mom tight. 

“I should tell him,” Patrick said softly, sounding like he was ready to cry. “But he won’t like me anymore.”

“I don’t think that will happen,” Patricia reassured him. “I just met Pete, but he doesn’t seem like that kind of person, Pats. And you don’t have to tell him, not until you’re ready.”

“I don’t want anyone else to tell him,” Patrick sniffed. “Like Ashlee.”

“Do you want me to talk to Ashlee’s mother?” Patricia asked. “You know she’ll do something about her.”

“I don’t know,” Patrick whispered. “I don’t want it to be a thing again.”

“I know,” Patricia said. “It’ll be easier after the summer, okay? I love you.”

“Love you too, mom,” Patrick said. He gave her one last squeeze and watched her go before swiping at his eyes and wandering back to Pete, breath hiccuping a little. 

“Sorry,” he said with a wry grin. “I’m not really racking up the cool points with you, am I? A virgin who cries when his mom leaves?”

“I think it’s pretty punk rock of you to admit both,” Pete said, giving Patrick a soft smile before kissing his forehead. “Want me to walk you home?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “Um. Do you--do you want to spend the night? Would it be weird to spend the night and not do anything?”

“Wouldn’t be weird,” Pete reassured him. “And if you want me to, I’d like to. But I will warn you that I’m an enormous cuddleslut.”

Patrick laughed, eyes scrunching up, and Pete couldn’t help it, he pressed a kiss to Patrick’s lips. 

After grabbing clothes that were not his nicest suit, they made their way to Patrick’s room, where Pete changed into his comfortable clothes in the bathroom while he assumed Patrick did the same in his room. The only clean thing Pete had left to sleep in was his boxers and a fucking enormous t-shirt that made him look like Ebenezer Scrooge in his Victorian nightgown. 

He figured it looked ridiculous enough to put Patrick at ease a little. He was right, because the second Pete stepped back into the room, Patrick burst into giggles, reaching out and tugging playfully at the end of it. 

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, eyes bright with laughter. “I love it.”

“I wore it just to impress you,” Pete said, bowing. “And not at all because I haven’t done laundry in weeks and this was the only clean thing I had left.”

“I’m swooning,” Patrick said, winking. He’d changed into pajama bottoms and a t-shirt that said _I <3 BINGO_\-- “shut up, my grandma gave it to me!”-- and seemed a little more relaxed. His suit was hanging up nicely, Pete could see it in the closet, and he grinned realizing Patricia taught Patrick well. 

“D’you want to watch something?” Patrick offered. “I got _The Force Awakens_ on blu-ray.”

“Sweet,” Pete said, and climbed up onto the bed next to Patrick, pressed hip-to-hip with him. After Patrick set up the movie, Pete tangled their fingers together, resting his head on Patrick’s shoulder despite the fact that it was bony as hell. 

Patrick’s leg was bouncing a little, like he was nervous about something or maybe restless, and Pete managed to ignore it up until Rey stole the Millenium Falcon. 

“Hey,” he whispered, and Patrick sucked in a quick breath, lip trembling a little. “ _Hey._ What’s wrong?”

Patrick swallowed hard, shaking a little, and looked up at Pete. His other hand was picking at a stray thread on his pajama pants and his eyes were wide and full of tears. Pete gently squeezed his hand and Patrick’s breath caught. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just--I’m sorry in advance, okay, and I should have told you earlier, but I like you so much and I don’t want you to leave and I was scared and I still am, mostly, but I don’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

“Breathe,” Pete said, and Patrick choked as he tried to listen. “Okay? Did you murder someone?”

Patrick shook his head. 

“Are you secretly a right-wing nutjob?”

“No,” Patrick said, and Pete kissed his forehead. 

“Then nothing you’re about to say will make me leave,” Pete said gently. “Okay?”

Patrick swallowed. 

“I--I told you that I had to do homeschool for my last year of high school because I got bullied,” Patrick said. “Which was true, except it wasn’t because I’m gay. It was because I left middle school as Megan and started high school as Patrick. They hated it, they hated me, and even when I changed schools, it was so bad when they found out. So I had to stay home.”

Pete cocked his head, feeling a little stupid. Patrick was telling him something super fucking important, but Pete felt like he was missing a large piece of the puzzle.

“I’m an idiot,” he said slowly. “But what do you mean?”

Patrick took a deep breath, looking away from Pete and at the floor, expression tense. He was shaking a little, so Pete squeezed his hand again. 

“So,” Patrick managed. “So I’m transgender. I was born female but I’m male and I’m transitioning and I’m having top surgery this summer and I’m so excited for it but I know I should have told you and I’m _sorry--”_

Patrick cut himself off with a sob and Pete pulled his hand out of Patrick’s in order to wrap his arms around Patrick and pull him close. He pressed kisses to the top of Patrick’s head and held on even as his heart ached. 

This was what Patrick was keeping from him? This was what Patrick was so terrified to tell him? Pete didn’t get the trans experience, he knew he didn’t, but that didn’t change the fact that Pete cared about Patrick more than anyone he’d ever dated. He couldn’t fucking imagine how it felt for Patrick to be scared of people finding out, to be unsure if anyone he talked to was nice or horrible. Pete wanted to be a little hurt that Patrick didn’t trust him, but he tried to shut that down--this wasn’t about him. 

“Patrick,” Pete said quietly. “Patrick, I’m so fucking honored you told me.”

Patrick took a deep, kind of desperate gasp for air and wiggled until his arms were around Pete, too, and Pete squeezed him tighter. 

“You are?” Patrick asked hoarsely. Pete nodded. 

“I am,” he said. “I’m so sorry you were so worried about telling me. But my answer is the same. I’m not going anywhere and this doesn’t change how much I care about you. Before you slammed into me in a Ghostbusters costume, you have no idea how low I was. You brought me out of the hole I was in. I like everything about you, Trick. I like your jokes, your Star Wars obsession, your voice, the music you write, everything. I like _you,_ Patrick, and I’m not about to stop. Okay?”

Patrick took another shuddering breath. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, tucking his face into Pete’s neck. “Thank you, Pete.”

Pete ran a hand through Patrick’s hair. They were quiet a moment as Patrick clearly fought to calm himself down, but eventually, he managed it. 

“I wasn’t going to tell you until later,” he admitted. “But I really wanted you to spend the night and I can’t--I can’t sleep in my binder, no matter how much I want to. I’ve had it on too long today already. So I had to--I had to explain.”

“I’m an idiot,” Pete said quietly. “I have no idea what a binder is.”

To Pete’s surprise, Patrick broke out in giggles, breath huffing over Pete’s neck. He pressed a kiss there before swallowing and leaning back, taking the neck of his shirt and pulling it to the side. He was wearing what looked like a thick tank top underneath. It looked tight, Patrick’s pale skin angry red at the edges where it clearly chafed, and Pete got it immediately. 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, I _am_ an idiot.”

“No,” Patrick disagreed. “You just didn’t know. I’m--I’m going to be a little quiet when I take this off. I don’t have any clothes big enough to hide them and I hate looking at them.”

“Wrong,” Pete said immediately, sitting up a little more and grabbing the hem of his own shirt. “No laughing at my shitty tattoo. I gave it to myself when I was fifteen.”

“I won’t?” Patrick asked, like he wasn’t sure where Pete was going with this. Pete yanked off the heinously huge t-shirt that was now a fucking godsend and handed it to Patrick. Patrick took it, eyes wide, and looked at Pete uncertainly. 

“See if that’s big enough,” Pete said, and Patrick lunged forward to kiss him a little desperately, a little messy in his haste, but heart wrenchingly genuine. He broke away and blinked back tears again, sniffing a little. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I just--thank you so much.”

“Anything for you,” Pete whispered back. Patrick swallowed and slid off the bed, walking gingerly into the bathroom, clutching Pete’s shirt like a lifeline. Pete watched him go and scrubbed his hands over his face once the door closed. 

Christ. Poor Patrick. And fuck, _Ashlee_. She had to have know, that was what the hints were about, and Pete got irrationally angry all of a sudden. She was trying to out Patrick. She was trying to out Patrick to Pete. She was trying to _hurt_ Patrick.

Pete knew there was history there, there had to be, but Pete just wanted to throw Ashlee into the duck pond in the middle of January and leave her, as horrible as that sounded. She was such a goddamn evil person, Pete was _lucky_ to be rid of her. 

The bathroom door clicked open and Patrick stepped out, hunched over a little bit. The shirt went to his knees and made him look fucking _adorable_ even though the reason he needed it was not.

“Come here,” Pete said. “Han Solo is about to die.”

Patrick curled back around Pete, quiet, and Pete just let him be, playing with the soft red-gold strands of Patrick’s hair. The silence lingered until Rey left Kylo Ren bleeding in the snow, broken when Patrick finally spoke. 

“When I told my parents,” he said. “They divorced. I mean, their marriage already was headed for it, but I guess I was the last straw. My dad didn’t want to let his _daughter_ ruin her life but my mom supported me. My dad wound up alone because Elisa picked me, too. I changed my name to Patrick because my mom’s my best friend.”

“It’s a good name,” Pete said. “I like it.”

“Thank you,” Patrick said again, shaky. “Just...thank you. So much.”

Pete kissed him softly and pulled him close in answer, and they watched as Starkiller Base blew up.

\-----

A knock at the door woke Pete, who groaned and curled tighter around Patrick. Patrick groaned, too, and burrowed back into Pete’s arms. 

“Go away,” Patrick called hoarsely. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s nine in the morning,” Travie called through the door. “Get your ass up, we’re getting breakfast, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Patrick said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Okay, hang on.”

“Text your boyfriend,” Travie called. “And bring him, too.”

Patrick peeked over his shoulder with wide eyes and Pete nodded with a grin. 

“Uh,” Patrick said. “Uh, he’s here, it’s good. We’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Oh, hell no you won’t,” Travie said loudly. “Open up so I can threaten Pete’s life.”

“I consider it threatened,” Pete called, and Patrick giggled. 

“I will be lecturing you,” Travie said. “But I am hungry so hurry up.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, and looked back at Pete who grinned.

“We probably have a few minutes,” he said suggestively, and nuzzled into Patrick’s neck as he laughed gleefully. 

“Get up, you pervert,” Patrick said, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as Pete gently closed his teeth around a soft, evidently sensitive part of Patrick’s neck. “Ah--”

“We have to get up,” Pete said against Patrick’s neck, and Patrick whined. “Later.”

“Fine,” Patrick said unhappily, but twisted around to kiss Pete. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Pete replied. Patrick bit his lip. “What?”

“Can you--” he began, before cutting himself off with a deep breath, closing his eyes. “It’s hard to put my binder on by myself. Can you help me?”

Pete kissed his forehead.

“Of course,” he said, and Patrick smiled softly. 

“Thanks,” he said, and Pete nodded. “C’mon. Travie gets pissy if you make him wait too long.”

Pete shoved himself out of bed after Patrick, following him into the bedroom and into his bathroom, where Patrick picked up something that looked like a thick sports bra and turned to face Pete, lip trapped between his teeth. 

“Okay,” he mumbled. “Okay. You’re gonna see them. Just...just ignore them. Please.” 

“Okay,” Pete said agreeably, and Patrick swallowed before flipping what must have been his binder inside out and upside down before stepping into it. Biting his lip, he took the end of Pete’s shirt and, in one quick motion, not pausing to think about it anymore, he yanked it off. 

Pete very determinedly didn’t stare at his chest, just reached out and helped him pull the binder up. He clearly struggled fitting the binder over his breasts, so Pete carefully and gently helped as best he could. As soon as it was on, Patrick pressed his hands to his now-flat chest and took a deep breath.

“I hate them,” he said, voice tiny. “I hate them and I can’t wait for this summer.”

“I can’t wait because you can’t wait,” Pete said. “Can you breathe?”

Patrick nodded.

“Thanks,” he said, and kissed Pete. “Let’s go, yeah?”

They wound up at the same old diner, and Pete squirmed very uncomfortably under the combined hard gazes of Travie, Joe, and Hayley. Patrick rolled his eyes and smacked Travie’s arm. 

“Stop it,” he scolded. “He helped me this morning.”

Travie ignored him and stuck one accusing finger in Pete’s face. 

“If you hurt my baby boy, I will shove a cactus _so far up your ass--”_

“Travie!” Patrick laughed as Pete held up his hands in surrender. “Leave my boyfriend alone.”

“Remember my words,” Travie threatened, and Pete looked at Andy, who was watching the whole scene with interest.

“I have no idea what happened, but they’re probably right to threaten you,” he smirked, and Pete flipped him off. “What? I’m your best friend, I’m allowed to make fun of you.”

Pete flipped him off again as Joe laughed almost gleefully. Patrick slipped his hand into Pete’s under the table and Pete grinned at him. He couldn’t believe he was this lucky. It was incredible to think that in just one month, he’d gone from lonely and depressed and single to part of an actual group of friends with an amazing boyfriend. 

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it, but he wasn’t about to question it. 

“Hey,” Patrick said, nudging him. “As my boyfriend, it’s your responsibility to buy me hot chocolate.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Pete grinned, and Patrick grinned back. 

“Look,” someone said. “It’s the group of queers.”

An ugly look crossed Travie’s face as Patrick hunched in on himself, staring at the table hard. Pete twisted to look behind him and scowled, too, when he saw who had spoken.

“Ashlee,” he snapped. “I thought I told you to fuck off and leave us alone.”

Ashlee shrugged. 

“I can’t say hello?” she taunted. “You know I went to high school with Meg--”

“Shut your mouth,” Pete snapped, blinking in surprise when he was echoed by three equally furious voices. He looked back to his friends--Travie was clenching his hands into fists, and Joe and Hayley looked like if they could, they would cheerfully throw Ashlee into Lake Michigan just to shut her up. 

Ashlee took a step back, eyes wide, clearly not expecting that reaction. She looked to each of them, pausing on Pete. 

“I didn’t know you missed me that much,” she said nastily. Pete scoffed. 

“I don’t miss you at all,” he said, and it was _true,_ he felt it in his chest. It was true, he didn’t miss a thing about Ashlee. Not now. Not anymore. “To be honest, it’s find of a relief to be away from you. You’re a really awful person, you know that?”

“But--”

“Oh and _also,_ ” Pete said loudly, interrupting her sputtering response. “I don’t think your mom will like the things you’re saying. She’s the chair of the Human Rights Committee, right?”

Ashlee paled. 

“So basically, I would leave,” Pete said firmly. “And I wouldn’t bother us again. Especially not Patrick.”

“Bye, bitch,” Hayley smirked as Ashlee looked dumbfounded. She snapped her jaw shut and crossed her arms.

“Fine,” she said. “Enjoy your new fucked up life.”

“I will,” Pete said. “More than I enjoyed a single second with you.”

He dropped his arm around Patrick’s shoulders and Patrick’s breathing hitched before he tentatively laid his head on Pete’s shoulder. Pete gave Ashlee a satisfied look, and Ashlee looked at all of them again before scowling and stalking away. Travie stood up and cheered, Joe following suit until Andy and Hayley dragged them both down. 

Travie leaned across the table and kissed Patrick’s forehead, Joe awkwardly pressing Pete into the plastic booth seating in order to do the same. Pete just kept his arm around Patrick, grinning softly when Patrick wormed his arm behind Pete to hold him back. 

“Hot chocolate?” he asked Patrick, and Patrick nodded against Pete’s shoulder. 

“With whipped cream,” he said. 

“You got it,” Pete replied, and Patrick smiled softly. 

\-----

Pete felt Patrick’s eyes on him all through breakfast, all through the walk back to Patrick’s dorm, and all the way up the stairs and down the hall. 

“ _What,_ ” he asked finally, once they were inside. Patrick’s lips quirked into a smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” Patrick lied, but then winked. “You’re just my hero.”

“Oh, am I?” Pete asked, raising an eyebrow and grabbing Patrick by the hips. “That’s a title I can get behind.”

“Better than boyfriend?” Patrick teased.

“No, I like boyfriend the most,” Pete said, grinning. “C’mere, can I kiss you?”

“Always,” Patrick breathed, and Pete did. Kissing Patrick felt like being born again every single time. His lips were impossibly soft, gentle and malleable, and he made the sweetest, smallest noises when Pete deepened the kiss. 

Pete felt like he was drowning, but he was happy to drown in Patrick Stump. Pete’s head was spinning the longer they kissed, and when wriggling, wandering fingers rucked up his t-shirt to trace across his abs, he grinned. 

“All yours,” he invited, leaning back to pull the offending fabric off when Patrick insistently pushed at it. Patrick leaned in immediately, pressing his lips, then his teeth to the thorns on Pete’s collarbone. He tilted his head back, letting Patrick explore as much as he wanted, toes curling with every tiny lick and nip. 

Patrick whined, cupping Pete’s face to kiss him again. Pete obliged him, kissing almost hungrily until he became aware that his pants were just a little too tight. Now would probably be a good time to check in with Patrick. One hundred boyfriend points to Pete for keeping some bloodflow in his brain.

“Hey,” he whispered, pulling away. “Hey, you okay?”

Patrick nodded quickly. 

“Yeah,” he said, swiping a tongue across his full, swollen lips. “Really good.”

“You tell me when you want to stop,” Pete said. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I kind of,” Patrick said hesitantly. “I kind of want all of it. But. I don’t want you to be like, disgusted. By my body.”

“Why would I be disgusted, Trick?” Pete asked, frowning. 

“Because,” Patrick bit out. “I don’t have the right parts.”

“You’re working on it,” Pete said gently. “I like you outside of what parts you have. If it upsets you, we don’t have to do anything.”

“Have you--” Patrick began hesitantly, before swallowing hard. “Have you had sex with a girl, though.”

“Yes,” Pete said gently. “And I’ve had sex with boys. I’m covered here.”

“Oh,” Patrick said, visibly relaxing. 

“I’m bi, not gay,” Pete continued. “And I promise you nothing about you will disgust me. At all.”

“Oh,” Patrick said again, then swallowed. “I--Okay so I’ve been told over and over to not do strenuous activity with my binder on, especially because of my asthma, but I want to keep it on.”

“You shouldn’t,” Pete said gently. “You have to be safe.”

“I just don’t know if I can do it if I have to look at them,” Patrick whispered. “They’re like, what I hate most. I can live with the rest, but every time I see them it hurts.”

“What if you wore the shirt?” Pete asked, brushing Patrick’s hair back. “Would it help?”

“Would it be too weird for you?” Patrick asked anxiously.

“Absolutely nothing would be too weird for me,” Pete said gently. “I want you to be comfortable, babe.”

“Babe?” Patrick asked, grinning, cheeks pink. 

“Sorry, do you not like it?” Pete asked, smirking.

“It’s okay,” Patrick teased, and Pete kissed him gently. “Do you mean it?”

“I mean it,” Pete said firmly, and Patrick kissed him. 

“Help me take my binder off?” he asked, and Pete nodded. 

“C’mere,” he managed. “Let me do it for you.”

“Kay,” Patrick managed, and let Pete gently take the bottom of his shirt. With a deep breath, Patrick raised his arms, letting Pete carefully pull the shirt off, leaving Patrick standing shirtless, eyes squeezed shut, in his black binder. 

Pete reached onto the bed and nabbed the oversized shirt he’d given to Patrick before resting his hands on Patrick’s waist. Patrick took another deep breath, biting his lip a little. 

“We’ll take it off and put the shirt right on,” Pete promised, and Patrick nodded. “Would it help to just keep your eyes closed?”

Patrick nodded again. 

“Okay,” Pete said. “Keep them closed if you want. Ready?”

Patrick nodded a third time and Pete reached for the binder. He’d never tell Patrick that he spent like eight hours watching videos about how to put on and take off binders, binder safety, and top surgery. But he had, because he didn’t want to be an idiot boyfriend. 

All that aside, this was his first practical experience, so he hoped he did it right. 

He carefully rolled up the bottom, Patrick’s breath hitching as he ducked his head. So so far, Pete was doing okay. In one quick motion, Pete tugged the binder off over Patrick’s head, replacing it as fast as possible with his shirt, tying the shirt up at Patrick’s hips. 

“Okay,” Pete said gently, and Patrick took a deep breath, eyes opening. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Pete kissed him. 

“Do you want to continue?” Pete asked anxiously. “Because I promise it’s alright if you don’t.”

“I do,” Patrick said, nodding vehemently. “I do, I just. I’m not going to be very good.”

“False,” Pete said. “You’ll be perfect. You can stop at any time. Promise you will if you need to?”

“Promise,” Patrick said, biting his lip, and Pete leaned in to kiss him. Patrick kissed back, hands settling at Pete’s hips, whining a little as Pete deepened the kiss. 

“You make the most beautiful noises,” Pete said, grinning as he pulled away. “I love them.”

Patrick flushed red, gasping as Pete mouthed down his neck. He was clutching at the back of Pete’s head a little desperately, shuddering as Pete found that sensitive spot again. 

“Oh my God,” Patrick moaned, and Pete smirked, sucking a dark mark into that spot as Patrick painted. Pete pressed a kiss to the bruise as shaky hands found the button on his jeans. 

Pete kissed Patrick before helping him, figuring it might be easier if Pete got naked first. Patrick’s eyes widened at Pete’s hard cock, reaching out and tentatively touching it. 

“Still good?” Pete asked, and Patrick nodded immediately before taking a deep breath and unbuttoning his own jeans. Biting his lip, he took them off, flushing hard once he was naked in front of Pete. 

“C’mere, gorgeous,” Pete said and Patrick flushed harder but let Pete lead him to the bed. “You’ve never done anything, right?”

“Not with other people,” Patrick said. “I don’t really know what to do.”

“Here’s a secret,” Pete said. “Literally nobody ever knows what to do. Can I touch you?”

Patrick nodded, melting into Pete as he pulled Patrick into his arms, kissing him. Pete gently urged Patrick down into the bed, still kissing him, letting Patrick run nervous hands down Pete’s sides. 

Pete avoided Patrick’s chest like his life depended on it, not wanting Patrick to have another reminder, but he kissed down Patrick’s neck until he squirmed under Pete, arching up a little. 

He was sinfully hot, it was unreal. 

“Can I try something?” he asked, not sure what Patrick’s reaction would be. “You can say no.”

Patrick’s breathing hitched and he nodded, lip between his teeth and cheeks red. Pete smoothed his hands up Patrick’s thighs before coaxing them apart a little. 

Pete’s not-so-secret favorite sex act was oral. He had a _bit_ of an oral fixation, and he liked to do it no matter who he was fucking. He also—a little egotistically, but whatever—knew he was really good at it. It was Patrick’s first time and Pete wanted Patrick to feel good. Pete barely even cared if he came or not as long as Patrick liked it. It felt kind of like a really exciting responsibility. 

Pete kissed up Patrick’s thigh, making him squeak and tremble a little, before carefully running his thumb over Patrick’s clit. Patrick gasped and Pete grinned. He liked the sensitive ones. Covered up any bad technique on his end, so to speak. 

Patrick was wet, which was pretty encouraging, so Pete went for it, licking a stripe across him, gently sucking his clit into his mouth. The moan he got for that almost made him come on the spot, but he heroically ignored it, pushing Patrick’s legs apart a little more as he began to eat him out with more fervor. 

Patrick was groaning, back arching, fingers twitching where they were buried in Pete’s hair, like he didn’t know if he wanted to pull Pete away or push him closer. 

“Oh—!” he gasped as Pete very carefully pressed teeth against Patrick’s rapidly-swelling clit as he teased his hole with one finger. “Oh, oh my god, oh, _Pete.”_

“Good?” Pete asked, pulling away for a moment. 

“Don’t _stop,_ ” Patrick complained, and Pete grinned before obliging. He paid close attention to Patrick’s evidently sensitive inner thighs and his clit as he eased one finger into him. He was incredibly wet, which reassured Pete, and fairly tight. Pete hadn’t ever been the first for a vagina before, but he guessed it made sense that Patrick would be a little tight. 

He curled his finger up, over to the left, and Patrick cried out, hands tightening in Pete’s hair, hips working back a little. He was so hot it was unreal and Pete would seriously love to fuck him senseless, immediately, but this was for Patrick, so he sternly told his dick _no._

Pete knew Patrick would be vocal and he was right. Patrick was whining and moaning and panting Pete’s name the more Pete worked at him, thighs trembling, giving Pete every sign in the book that he liked it. 

Pete cautiously worked a second finger in, noting with a grin that Patrick was far more relaxed, and Patrick gasped as Pete found his g-spot again. Pete’s face was wet, the inside of Patrick’s thighs were wet, _Patrick_ was wet, getting wetter with every minute. Pete loved it. 

Without warning, Patrick’s thighs closed around Pete’s head a little as he gasped and moaned and shuddered his way through an orgasm. Pete kept licking as he came, drinking him and his desperate gasps up. 

“Oh, _Pete,_ ” Patrick whined, pulling his hair. “Pete, Pete, please--”

“Do you want more?” Pete asked, pulling away and biting at Patrick’s thigh. “I personally would love to make you come more than once.”

Patrick moaned. 

“Want you,” he managed, cheeks bright red. “Want you to fuck me, please.”

“Are you sure?” Pete asked softly. “We don’t have to. I am more than happy to continue eating you out.”

Patrick’s breath caught. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. I’ll stop you if I change my mind. But I want to.”

Pete kissed Patrick’s inner thigh before wiping his face with the back of his hand--making Patrick shudder--and pushing himself to his knees. Now that his brain had switched tracks, he was very aware of how hard he was, and he squeezed the base of his cock to take the edge off. 

He paused, realizing something. 

“Oh,” he said. “I definitely do not have a condom.”

Patrick flushed. 

“I, uh,” he said. “I can’t get pregnant. I have an IUD, I got it to stop my periods.”

Pete frowned. 

“I would not be setting a good example,” he said. “Seeing as how I always insist on safe sex.”

“Are you clean?” Patrick asked. 

“Yeah,” Pete said. “But are you sure? Because it’ll never feel the same with a condom.”

“I’m sure,” Patrick promised. Pete nodded. 

“Okay,” he said gently. Patrick bit his lip until Pete leaned over to bite it for him, turning it into soft, deep kisses that had Patrick keening. He gently pressed on Patrick’s thighs and Patrick took a deep breath. 

“Ready?” Pete asked, and Patrick nodded, tangling his hands in Pete’s hair. 

“I trust you,” he said, making Pete’s chest ache, and suddenly, Pete couldn’t wait another second. Patrick was so wet he didn’t need lube at all, just wet his cock with a little spit and lined up. 

“Pete!” Patrick gasped breathlessly as Pete pushed in. “Pete, oh my God, _Pete!”_

“Good or bad?” Pete somehow managed to grunt out. Patrick felt _unbelievable._ He wasn’t that tight, clearly turned on enough, but he was warm and wet and Pete was struggling to not come right then. 

“Good,” Patrick gasped as Pete’s hips hit his. “Oh, God, Pete, good.”

“‘M gonna move,” Pete said, and Patrick nodded quickly, arching up and moaning as Pete thrust once. Pete thankfully had enough presence of mind to release the death grip he had on Patrick’s thighs and push one hand between his legs, stroking firmly over his clit in time with his thrusts. 

Patrick was moaning like he couldn’t help it, pulling Pete’s hair until he grabbed Pete’s wrist and pushed his fingers hard against his clit as he cried out and came. 

Pete felt it, felt Patrick tighten around him, and couldn’t wait. He barely managed to stutter out a warning before he came, too, into the impossible heat of Patrick. His arms gave out and he semi-collapsed on top of Patrick, tucking his face into his neck as he slid out. They were both breathing hard, panting, and Pete pushed himself up to brush Patrick’s hair back.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, and Patrick’s lower lip trembled a little. “Babe, oh no, what’s wrong?”

“I just,” Patrick said, fighting back tears. “I just didn’t think I’d ever get anything like that. Or anyone like you. But somehow I got you and you’re the best person in the entire world and--”

Patrick hiccuped and Pete kissed him gently. 

“And I think I love you,” Patrick managed. Pete kissed him again.

“I know I love you,” he whispered. “I’ve never been more happy to have been dumped. You want to stay with me?”

“You want me?” Patrick asked. 

“More than want,” Pete said. “Need.”

Patrick cracked into a watery smile. 

“Yeah,” Patrick said, and Pete tucked his face into Patrick’s neck, kissing the sweaty skin there. “I’ll stay.”

\----

**Epilogue**

Today was the day. Patrick hadn’t stopped bouncing since he woke up, burrowed into Pete’s side. Today was the _day_ , arranged carefully in order to give Patrick time to heal before school started. Patrick’s goal was the music department’s pool party shirtless, and Pete would help him there if it killed him. 

He’d told his boss in no uncertain terms he needed the most flexible of schedules. Thankfully, he was accommodated. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Patrick said quietly, sitting on the hospital bed. Nurses had been in several times to check the progress of the IV fluids, and they would start the sedation and anaesthesia once the bags were empty. Patricia was on and off the phone with Elisa (and Kevin, Patrick’s older brother that Pete was terrified to meet), catching them up. Pete just sat next to the bed Patrick was on, holding his hand.

“It’s happening,” Pete said, kissing Patrick’s cheek. “Are you happy?”

Patrick nodded. 

“More than I can say,” he admitted. “But I’m still scared.”

“You’re allowed to be,” Pete replied. Patrick took a shaky breath. 

“This is real,” Patrick said. “There aren’t any go-backs. You know that, right?”

“Patrick,” Pete said calmly. “I know this is real. I know there are no go backs. I love you, all of you, everything about you. I’m not changing my mind.”

Patrick squeezed his hand, giving Pete a watery smile. 

“I don’t know how I got you,” he said. “But I’m not letting you go.”

“I hope not,” Pete said. “You’re basically my soulmate.”

The wait seemed to take forever, Pete unable to help constantly worrying. It was actually only about three hours later that Patricia was called back. 

“And what are you waiting for?” she asked Pete, fighting a grin, and relief hit Pete’s chest as he scrambled to follow her. 

“Patrick did well,” the nurse said. “The doctor will review the instructions he already gave you and Patrick, and you also have them in the paperwork. He’ll be able to go home once he wakes up.”

“No complications?” Patricia asked. 

“None,” the nurse reassured her. “It was actually pretty easy, as far as mastectomies go, and Dr. Mussler was able to achieve the flat chest first go. He doesn’t think there will be need for a second surgery, as long as Patrick adheres to the instructions.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Patricia said. 

“Right through here,” the nurse said, before frowning and looking at Pete. “And you are?”

“Patrick’s future husband, it’s fine,” Patricia said, winking at Pete before taking his hand and leading him into the dark, quiet recovery room. Patrick was the only patient, still asleep. Patricia pulled back his hospital gown and Pete saw thick bandages, tight around his chest. 

“He’ll have to wear those for about a week,” Patricia said. “The thing is, he can’t raise his arms over his head for at least six months. I expect you to make sure of that when you go back to DePaul.”

“Of course,” Pete said. Patricia brushed Patrick’s hair back and he groaned.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Patricia said. “You ready to wake up?”

“Hurts,” Patrick said hoarsely. 

“I know,” Patricia said. “Guess what? You’re all done!”

“Done?” Patrick asked. 

“Done,” Patricia confirmed. “No more binders.”

Patrick smiled, albeit sleepily, and reached for his mom’s hand. 

“Is Pete mad?” he asked, and Pete felt his heart break a little. Patrick was so worried about upsetting Pete. He resolutely made it his new goal to help Patrick change that line of thinking. 

“I don’t think he is,” Patricia said gently. “If he was mad, I don’t think he’d be here right now.”

“He’s here?” Patrick asked, lighting up a little. Pete stepped up beside Patricia and kissed Patrick’s forehead. “You’re here?”

“Been here, babe,” Pete said, smiling softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

“No more,” Patrick managed. “No more of them.”

“No more of them,” Pete confirmed. Patrick’s eyes were drooping. “Go back to sleep, it’s okay. We’ll wait right here for you.”

“Love you,” Patrick mumbled. “Love you so much.”

“Love you, too,” Pete said, and Patrick drifted. “I do, you know.”

“You’d _better_ ,” Patricia said. “I’ve tried to protect Patrick since he came out. You have no idea how many times I trusted people and they let me down. They let Patrick down. His first school. His second school. The three other music programs he auditioned for that rejected him, and it was because he’s trans. And then he told me about you and I could hardly bear it. I was so convinced that you would hurt him, but time went on and you never did. And you make him happy. You’re the first person who hasn’t broken my trust, and I can never thank you enough for that.”

Pete swallowed hard, a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes. He looked up at Patricia, who wrapped an arm around him and squeezed. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

“I swear to God, though, if you let him do something he’s not supposed to just because you can’t resist his face, I will kick your ass into the next dimension. Clear?”

“Clear,” Pete said, and Patricia squeezed him again. 

“He’s amazing, you know?” Pete said, still watching Patrick sleep.

“I know,” Patricia said proudly. “He’s my son.”

Pete nodded. 

“I can’t ask for a better boyfriend,” he said. “I just hope I measure up.”

“Keep trying,” Patricia said. “The more Patrick smiles, the more I like you.”

Pete laughed and Patricia pinched him as Patrick kept sleeping. The next time he woke up, he’d start the next leg of his journey. Pete couldn’t wait to travel with him.

\-----

**Author's Note:**

> i live at the bottom of a very dark hole @ smalltalktorture.tumblr.com but if you scream into a bottle and throw it down the hole, i'll scream back.
> 
> special thanks to my cheerleaders: the love of my life @sunflashes and my wonderful daughter @folieamo. i love them both.


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